 | Poems By The Reverend Mr. Hoyland |  |
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ODE II. To a Nightingale.
I.
Coy Bird of Eve! whose solitary NoteI catch imperfect from a Spray remote,
(While num'rous Ecchoes down the Vale
Convey the melancholy Tale)
Still nearer to my lonely Cell
Bring all thy Woes, sweet Philomel!
II.
Around that Cell no verdant BowersWith careless Elegance inwove,
Or Shrubs adorn'd with early Flowers
Exhaling Fragrance court thy Love;
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Thy Throat will vainly warble here:
Thy liquid Lays enchant my Soul
Wakeful, as yonder starry Pole:
Then, nearer to my lonely Cell
Bring all thy Woes, sweet Philomel.
III.
If I deny the hospitable Bough,(Foe to the pensive Genius of the Shades)
May yonder beechen Glades
Their salutary Gloom no more display,
To intercept the Dog-Star's fiery Ray
From my devoted Brow!
May never Music sooth my Breast,
But the funereal Bird, unblest,
Harrow with Shrieks, that fright the dawning Day!
Witness, ye neighb'ring Alleys green!
Do I not rove, where Woodbines twine,
And call each branching Oak, divine,
Enraptur'd with the sylvan Scene?
Then nearer to my lonely Cell
Bring all thy Woes, sweet Philomel.
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IV.
Were once my ardent Wishes crown'd,A new Elyzium waving round,
Would empty ev'ry Forest nigh
Of all their native Melody:
But Fate, inexorable Fate,
Not ev'n thy Sounds can mitigate:
Then pardon, gentle Bird, the Wrong;
And, at my Window perching light,
Pour thy sweet Breast: attentive Night
Will o'er these Bounds her solemn Reign prolong.
| Poems By The Reverend Mr. Hoyland | |